


It’s Been Too Long, Love

by BrightShiningAsTheSun



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Smut, that finger lick thing oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightShiningAsTheSun/pseuds/BrightShiningAsTheSun
Summary: you and john haven’t seen each other in weeks and you’ve got a need™️





	It’s Been Too Long, Love

You thought they’d never leave. After six gruelling hours in the studio working on their album, the boys were all starting to get argumentative and hungry, and had decided to take a break.

The pressure that came with releasing a new album was starting to get to them, their worries about creating something new but still recognisably Queen boiling over into sharp words and exhausted sighs.

But that was nothing new. They worked well _because_ they argued, challenged each other. It made sure they worked harder to make the best sound possible.

You liked watching them interact with each other, how Freddie and Roger would toss ideas back and forth to each other along with a few insults, and how Brian would constantly suggest rewrites, wanting everything to be perfect.

Only John held back, watching them argue, but never letting them talk over them. He simply waited until they were finished spitting at each other like alley cats then proposed his thoughts.

You’d missed that smile he got whenever he had an idea. You’d both been so busy, you hadn’t seen each other in almost two weeks. It was a shock to the system, you usually went out almost every night, but recently you’d only been able to talk over the phone, and he was always so tired, you felt bad for keeping him away from his bed no matter how much he assured you that he was fine.

Finally, you found you missed him too much and decided to surprise him at the studios where you knew they were recording. It seemed like a good idea at the time but as you drew closer to the recording booths, you began to worry that you’d be interrupting their hard work.

All that worry left your head the moment you saw John. He was alone in the booth, headphones on, his brow furrowed as he focused on the bass line he was effortless picking out with long, elegant fingers.

You could watch him play forever. The way he leaned into the bass, using his whole body, nodding his head gently to help him keep rhythm. You wondered if he knew just how animated he was when he played, or if he was always so lost in the music that he didn’t realise. Disco Deaky, they called him. You could see why.

Movement out of the corner of your eye made you turn your head and you realised it was Freddie waving at you through the window of the recording studio door. He smiled brightly, pointing in the direction of the booth, then gave you a thumbs up, mouthing ‘go on!’

You looked looked back at the small window in the booth door and saw that John had finished playing. You thanked Freddie then carefully pushed open the door.

John must’ve assumed you were one of the boys or a sound tech because he didn’t look up straight away.

“I thought that one sounded good,” he murmured, fiddling with the wire that ran from his bass to the amp. “One more time should do it.” He looked up, his nose wrinkled in thought. Then he saw you and his expression softened.

“Wow, you’re good,” you murmured, closing the door softly behind you. “Have you ever considered playing professionally?”

John’s wide smile made his eyes crinkle. “Dunno if I’m the rockstar type.”

“Well, I think you’re pretty spectacular.” You returned his smile as he swung his bass out of the way so that he could wrap his arms around you.

Conscious of the boys being able to see and hear everything, he settled for resting his hands on your waist, though he would’ve preferred to let them take up their usual position a little further down.

“How’ve you been? I’ve missed you.”

You gave him a chaste kiss, also all too aware of the gaggle of men probably watching on from the studio, but he chased your lips, desperate for more after so long without you.

His mouth moved against yours slowly, deeply, drawing a moan from you that made him smile against your lips. He broke away but stayed close, his nose brushing yours as he pressed soft, gentle kisses at the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

“Missed you too,” he murmured against your skin, making you groan softly as his voice rumbled against your throat. His breath was warm on your face as he worked his way back up to meet your lips again, his hands holding your face to keep your mouth against his.

Then the door opened and three grinning men stepped through, making an almighty racket as they talked over the track, somehow managing to find something to snark at each other about inbetween brainstorming ideas.

John sighed, letting his forehead rest against yours for a moment, his hands smoothing back down your sides to their place on your hips. “We almost had a moment to ourselves then.”

You laughed softly. “Almost.”

“When you’re ready, Deaky.” Brian called from the corner, where he and the boys had all settled to go over the song.

Roger had that familiar glint in his eye as he said, “Don’t worry, mate, you just carry on.” Then to you, “Hi, love,”

“Hello, Rog,” you replied, feigning exasperation but your smile gave you away. It was nice to see _all_ the boys.

Still in your arms, you heard John hum under his breath, annoyed. He didn’t like it when the others flirted with you.

You smiled, pressing your lips against his one last time before you tore yourself away from him. “Don’t work too hard, lovely.”

You left him aching for you, watching you walk away with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, the warmth of your body still lingering against his own. He found it incredibly hard to focus for the rest of the session, just thinking about you and all he’d like to do to you.

You wondered if you should leave them to it but the boys invited you to stay. They had finished recording for the day, now they were just jamming essentially, trying out some new ideas.

You found a perch on the amp connected to John’s bass, happily watching your boyfriend and his friends making something beautiful and new right before your very eyes.

Then John tried out the riff he’d been working on, his long fingers tugging at the bass strings with a precision and power that left you feeling hot all over.

You watched the muscles shift under the taught skin of his arms as he played, picturing the last time you’d been together, those hands working away at you instead.

The amp vibrated beneath you, making you swallow thickly. It sent waves of pleasure rolling over you, only making your need worse.

God, he looked fantastic when he played. The thin sheen of sweat on his skin, the strength in his hands, the way his bent knees made his thighs tense.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the amp, parting your knees that little bit further so that the vibrations thrummed directly against you as John continued to play, completely unaware of what he was doing to you.

Then his fingers did something tricky and a series of short bursts from the bass made you suck in a sharp breath, the vibrations rolling right over your core.

John heard you even if the others didn’t, they were all too focused on their own instruments. He saw you, the desperate look on your face, your lip caught between your teeth, your dark gaze on him and only him. Then he saw how tightly you gripped the amp, your knuckles pale, and how you’d spread your legs to get closer to the thrumming box beneath you.

He licked his lips, suddenly picking up the tempo and plucking a series of notes that made the amp pulse.

You groaned, rolling your hips slightly, putting on a show now that you had an audience. Then you reached down and turned up the volume on the amp, keeping your eyes on him the whole time.

John’s jaw was tight as he kept up his playing, summoning every pattern he’d ever known and inventing a few on the spot, intent on making you feel good.

He had you gasping by the end, so needy and desperate that you almost came right there. That was why you’d never been so happy to see the back of his bandmates when they finally left to get food.

John politely declined joining them, saying that he wanted to stay and figure out the tail end of the bass line.

He kept his eyes on you as he put his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, his bass resting on his lap.

“You’re a right bastard, you know that?” you muttered as you finally got off the amp, the ache between your thighs almost unbearable now.

John’s smile was innocent, butter wouldn’t melt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He motioned for you to join him on the floor and you settled between his splayed legs, leaning back against his chest with a deep, relieved sigh.

You hadn’t just missed his touch, you missed him, all of him. Just being near him was enough to calm every worry in your head, you always felt lighter around John, simply happier.

You smiled when he settled the bass in your lap, his thumb toying with the strings as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I like that new riff.” You tapped the bass gently, looking up at him. “Can you teach me?”

You felt John’s hum deep in his chest, rumbling against your back, and you shivered, so happy to be close to him again.

“Talent like this can’t just be taught, you know,” he said, his lips close to your ear making you shiver again.

“Oh, surely a truly great artist like yourself can pass on just a little of his wisdom?”

“I s’pose can try.” He grinned as he shuffled the bass further up your lap so that he could reach the strings and peer over your shoulder to see properly. “Right, hands here and here.”

He moved your hands into the right position for you, his long fingers resting over yours for far longer than necessary. You liked this side to him, authoritative and confident.

“Is it resting on you alright? Does it feel good?”

You tilted your head back so that you could press your lips against the underside of his jaw, pushing you arse back against him.

“Feels really good,” you murmured, grazing your teeth against his skin, smiling when you heard him groan softly, his hips bucking against you.

“Christ.” His fingers tightened over yours, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. It had been far too long since he’d been able to touch you.

When he finally came back to his senses, he readjusted his grip on the bass. You let him guide your fingers, picking out the new riff. It was far too complicated, you’d never get it in a hundred years, but you liked how gentle but firm he was, and how heavy his voice was by your ear as he talked you through it.

“Maybe I’ll just watch you,” you said, giving up with a smile.

John leaned closer than you thought possible, his chest against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. You felt him smile against your skin as he quickly kissed your cheek, unable to help himself as he began to play.

You watched his fingers move, desperately trying to keep your breathing regular. But the bass had slipped down your thighs and was almost sitting on the floor between them now, and it was the only thing between his strong fingers and your aching core, fingering the strings when he should’ve been touching you.

His chest was warm against your back, his nose pressed along your jaw. You could feel him humming to himself, his body moving in time with the music just like it always did, Disco Deaky, but now it meant his hips were grinding against your arse and neither one of you could ignore how good it felt.

But then he stopped playing, just for a second, to raise his fingers to his lips and wet them with his tongue. You watched, mouth hanging open, as he licked his fingers and then went back to playing.

The moan that slipped from your lips was embarrassingly loud, spreading your legs just that little bit further so that the bass slipped between your thighs and settled on the floor.

Again, you felt John smile against your skin as he turned to press his lips at the bass of your neck. “You alright there, love?”

You shook your head, pressing yourself back against him again. “Please,” you groaned, pressing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the desperate ache between them.

Thankfully, John didn’t need to be told twice. You turned your head to face him and he kissed you desperately, hungrily, his tongue drawing a moan from you. It was an uncomfortable position, your neck ached from the strain, but you couldn’t care less, it felt so good to kiss him again.

His mouth moved over yours with such intent, dropping the bass’s neck in favour of wrapping his fingers around your jaw and holding your lips against his. You felt the bass tip and grabbed for it before it could hit the floor, both of you laughing softly at how easily distracted he was by you.

But now you were holding the bass, it allowed him to let his other hand sneak under your shirt, massaging your breast, his calloused thumb running over your nipple.

His hum of appreciation and the rough pad of his thumb made you whimper, your mouth leaving his as you shut your eyes tight, overwhelmed by his touch after so long without it.

Keeping one eye on the door was a herculean task, all John wanted to do was watch you as your back arched, pressing yourself into his hand. He let out a short, sharp huff as you ground your arse back against him again, spurring him on and trying to give him some pleasure of his own.

Slowly, far too slowly for your liking, his hand slipped down your front, trailing his fingertips. You thought he’d move the bass out of the way and so you sat up a little, anticipating his movements, but his free hand grabbed hold of your hip, keeping you still.

You bit your lip to keep back your moan as his long fingers slipped under your skirt, hiking it up around your waist.

“Tell me if you hear them coming,” he murmured, then he moved your soaked underwear aside, sliding his finger through your slick heat. _At last._

An embarrassingly needy whine fell from your lips as you leaned back against his chest, wanting as much of his body touching yours as possible. His breathing was just as unsteady as he started to rub your clit in agonisingly gentle circles, moving slowly to tease you, to make you moan desperately.

“God, you look incredible like this,” he murmured, pressing open-mouth kisses down your throat as two of his fingers worked at you.

Your hips bucked towards his hand, needing more, but he pressed them back down again, his other hand slipping under your shirt to squeeze your breast.

You sighed, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me? Or my hands?”

At last, he moved his hand down to slide a finger into you, grinning against your skin at the moan you gave in response.

“Would you hate me if I said a bit of both?” you managed to gasp out, one hand letting go of the bass to clutch at his thigh.

“Not at all.”

His thumb pressed against your clit with just enough pressure to make you writhe against him, his finger curling inside of you before he added another.

“Christ, John.”

You knew you were supposed to be keeping an eye on the door but you couldn’t care less if the boys walked in right now. The bass was still between your thighs, hiding all that John was doing to you from view, but as his deft fingers worked at your core, the others pinching your nipple, there was no doubt they’d be able to hear your moans from down the hall anyway.

“It’s been too long, love.” John suddenly picked up the pace, pumping his fingers, his rough thumb rubbing your clit. “Have you got off since you last saw me?”

“Had too. Kept thinking about you,” you admitted, too far gone to feel sheepish now. Every night, you had to get off every night that you hadn’t seen him but it had never felt as good as this.

He grinned against your shoulder, sucking at you skin, biting down gently. “Did you think about me while you touched yourself?”

“S’always you. Only you,” you breathed out, your free hand rising to tangle in his hair at the back of his head, pulling gently, urging him to go faster. His low groan vibrated through you.

“What did you think about?”

“This.” You let out a choked groan, turning to press your face into his neck. “Your fingers in me. That bloody thing you do when you’re playing.”

You felt him smirk against you skin, then his fingers left you. You could’ve cried at the loss of contact, suddenly feeling cold and empty without his touch. But you were rewarded for your patience.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he raised his hand to his lips, his fingers glistening with _you_ , and slipped them between his lips. You groaned as he sucked the taste of you from his fingers then slowly ran them through your heat, just as he did when he was playing.

“Fuck.” Your hips bucked of their own accord, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit.

Your desperate moans, the way you leaned into his touch, your ragged breathing, all little reminders of how much you needed him, it was enough to make John groan. He pressed his lips to your temple. “God, I love you.”

You laughed breathlessly, whispering that you loved him too as his hand left you again. His index and middle fingers pressed against your bottom lip, a silent question, and you opened your mouth for him.

He groaned as your tongue swirled around his fingers, your appreciative moan rolling over his skin. He couldn’t resist grinding his hard on against your arse, trying to get some friction, and you pushed back against him, more than happy to help.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with an agonisingly wet sound, quickly pressing them back against your clit.

With a choked groan, his other hand left your breast to hold your jaw again, turning your face towards him so that he could kiss you, messy and sloppy and deep, the taste of you on both your tongues.

He pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, at the same time rubbing your clit quickly, and you moaned his own name into his mouth, begging him to make you cum.

The building pressure in your lower stomach, it was getting unbearable. The smell of him, the sound of your name groaned close by your ear, his fingers curling inside you, hitting just the right spot again and again and again.

You pulled on his hair, begging him not to stop, _please don’t stop, you’re so close._ You ground you hips against his hand, and he picked up the pace, his long fingers rubbing hard against your clit.

“Come on, love,” he groaned by your ear, sucking at the space where your neck met your shoulder.

You whimpered in response, unable to form actual words. You clutched at his thigh, feeling his muscles tense beneath your fingers, his name rolling off your tongue as your pressed back against him, your head falling against his shoulder.

“That’s my girl, come on, just let go,” he murmured, watching as you arched your back, calling him name over and over as you hit your climax, your body trembling against his.

He didn’t stop moving his fingers until you’d collapsed against him, your mouth hanging open as you gasped for breath.

He pressed delicate kisses across your cheek, down your jaw to your neck until your expression relaxed and you lazily turned you head to kiss him properly, whimpering against his lips as his fingertips danced across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you breathed, reaching up to hold his face, your thumb smoothing across his jaw. “No excuses. I don’t care about your bloody album.”

John smiled as he kissed you again. “Neither do I right now.”

Groaning with the effort, you stood up on shaky legs, embarrassed by how wet you were. God, that boy had you in the palm of his hand.

You made sure your skirt was back in place then turned to look at your boyfriend. You couldn’t help laughing fondly at how out of sorts he looked, all ruffled and sweaty, his hard on painfully obvious through his tight jeans.

“You might wanna cover that,” you suggested, just as the door opened behind you.

John quickly grabbed for his bass and sat it on his thighs, hissing slightly as he accidentally bumped it against his crotch, the strain almost unbearable.

Roger poked his head around the door, a six pack in one hand and a bag from the Chinese on the corner in the other.

“You two alright?” he asked, unhooking one of the beers and chucking it to you.

You selfconciously brushed your hand over your hair, hoping you didn’t look nearly as flustered as you felt. “Yeah, yeah,” You shot John a wicked grin. “Just catching up.”


End file.
